Between the Lines
by cowgirlfromhell
Summary: Has Captain Maynard brought in someone to take Carter Shaw's place or should Carter simply read between the lines? Carter/OFC. Please heed the MA rating.
1. Chapter 1

Ty Curtis pushed his way forcefully through the double doors that led to Carter Shaw's bullpen. Tearing off his jacket he threw it in the general direction of his desk and nodded his head toward Jamie Allen, the pretty young blonde standin next to Dean Bendis' desk, her coffee cup in hand.

"Okay, I'm here, man, what's so important?"

Dean ran his hand over the stubble on his chin thoughtfully; his green eyes glued to a computer screen as information and pictures scrolled by. "Maynard's bringin' in somebody else," he said matter-of factly. Carter Shaw's most senior operative, Dean Bendis, had an on again off again 'thing' with Captain Maynard's assistant and after he'd fucked her eight ways to Sunday the night before she'd let it slip.

"That is bullshit, man," Ty said hotly shaking his head in disgust.

Jamie nodded hers in agreement and watched the screen over the rim of her cup as she sipped the hot brew.

"She lost her entire team on her last op and presumably, nobody wants to touch her," Dean said as he continued to scan the fast moving information for only the juiciest bits.

"So how is it that we get stuck with this fucking pariah?" Ty wondered as he spun a chair around and, sliding it between his legs, sat.

"Apparently she's got some pull with Captain Maynard so it only stands to reason that he's bringing her in to take Carter's place"

"Take Carter's place?" Jamie repeated. She waited for the punch line and when no joke was forthcoming she flatly refused to believe it, "Uh uh, that can't be right."

"She's the same rank as Carter but with more UC experience. So why else would Maynard assign her to us?" Dean speculated a frown creasing his forehead.

"Maybe it's management's way of telling us to choose another line of work," Ty suggested flippantly and as far as Dean was concerned he thought the man wasn't far off.

Bendis didn't mind working for a woman, especially one as hot as this broad. What he did mind was that it took a special person, someone like Carter Shaw, to dig beneath the layers of his self-protective bullshit and ferret out the man underneath, to recognize his true worth and Dean sincerely doubted this Lieutenant Falconer or whatever her name was would take the time to read between his lines or to look beyond the obvious. He also doubted that she would put up with said bullshit and his occasional trips off the reservation.

Once recruited Dean had not had an easy time of it, being totally accepted by Carter, but now the lieutenant was a strong supporter even if he wasn't a friend of the young detective. Carter Shaw didn't have any friends. Dean felt it would be hard, if not impossible, for him to accept the change in leadership and, judging by the recent demise of the four men directly under the in-coming cop's command; it might be an adjustment he would be pretty fucking stupid to make.

Standing quietly at the back of the room Carter Shaw watched with mixed emotions as his team huddled together around Dean's desk. It had taken him months to talk Captain Maynard into giving him this non-department and even more time to cherry pick Dean Bendis and Ty Curtis from the best undercover cops LAPD had to offer. And Jamie Allen, his newest acquisition, had been "under' since inventing a whole new identity and persona for herself a few years ago. Yeah, Carter was satisfied with his team and now there was a real possibility they would be yanked out from under his command and given to another senior officer, a cop with a checkered past at best and the stink of death still on her.

When Captain Maynard had told him of his decision Carter had tried to plead his case but his words had fallen on deaf ears. Maynard had blinders on when it came to this woman and pointedly ignored the obvious…that she was a loose cannon. Effectively blowing off Carter's concerns Maynard hadn't confirmed or denied his intent regarding Lieutenant Ciarin Falconer. He just handed over her jacket and ordered Shaw to make the best of it.

After giving the thick file a superficial perusing it was obvious that, like him, she didn't play well with others and though the official verdict was in and she had, in point of fact, been cleared of any wrongdoing her last four playmates had nonetheless ended up dead. Throwing the brown folder onto his desk without reading further Carter knew all too well that at this point the official verdict really didn't matter. The agent in command, depending on the outcome of the op, took the glory or the fall and this bitch had taken a monumental plunge.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking into the cavernous room that was Carter Shaw's inner sanctum, Ciarin Falconer wondered when Russell Maynard would ever learn. When would he stop trying to find a niche for her, especially within a closed cohesive group like Shaw's? Walking up to the group, all of them going silent and staring at her as she made her way toward them, she had an unmistakable sense of déjà vu.

Ciarin had seen it all before, the unobtrusive closing of the ranks against her. The crossed muscular arms of the black cop, Ty Curtis, the averted eyes of the pretty little blonde, Jamie Allen, and the tilting of the head as the baby faced one, Dean Bendis, gave her the once over as he took her measure.

When he smiled at her she supposed, correctly, that he had a reputation as a real stud and she would bet the farm that he would come on strong and fast and be pretty well pissed when she rebuffed him, firstly, because he was ten years younger than her and, secondly, because she was loathe to shit where she ate.

Yeah, Dean Bendis would hate her the second she shut him down and more than likely take his friends right along with him although by the looks of things it would be a short trip. She mentally sighed and steeled herself in anger to keep the pain from touching her yet again.

"Everyone," Carter said clearing his throat, his voice strangely flat as he spoke, "This is Lieutenant Ciarin Falconer, late of the NOPD. She'll be working with us until further notice." Carter declaration was blunt and to the point, no more information forthcoming only because he seemed to still be on a need to know basis with Captain Maynard. Anyway, he thought this team, through the grapevine and various other contacts, already had more information than he ever would.

Turning back to his computer Carter pulled up the blueprints for a small warehouse in South Central and laid out the night's mission. "This is what used to be Dunstable's Coat and Hat, a clothing manufacturer that's been out of business for at least ten years. According to my informant it's now known as Dunstable's Coke and Smack, a distribution center for the Southland."

"We goin' under?" Ty wanted to know, not really sure how things were going to shake out with an unknown quantity in the mix. He was sure he could count on Carter to have his back and, for all intents and purposes, Dean was solidly back in the fold. Jamie was still wet behind the ears but fully on board now that she had come clean and split with her boyfriend so he had no worries there. What he didn't have was a good read on Falconer and he was relieved when Carter told them it was simple surveillance only and that Ty was with Jamie. Since Carter was backing up in the loft that left the newbie to watch and wait with Dean.

Dean hated surveillance. He was a hands on kind of guy and by the end of the shift he wanted nothing more than a bottle of ice cold beer and a gratuitous fuck, neither of which he was getting from his new partner. He'd tried to hit on her almost immediately and, almost as if she'd known what was coming, she had shut him down in no uncertain terms. She had also refused to answer any of his questions about her past assignments, her present assignment and what exactly she had on Captain Maynard. All in all it was an uneventful and unfruitful night for the young undercover cop.

Dean didn't want to dislike her but Falconer fell solidly into the bitch category as far as he was concerned and the sooner she was gone the better. He'd told Ty as much as they walked along with Jamie to their respective cars.

"So she didn't fall for the old Bendis charm, huh?" Ty asked throwing his ditty bag into the back seat of his car.

"Since when do you hit on Cougars, Dean?' Jamie wanted to know unlocking her car door.

"Women are like fine wine," Dean started with a lazy smile, "The older they get, the better they are."

"But they can still give you one hell of a hangover," Ty laughed slipping behind the wheel of his car, "See you on the flip."

"What do you think of her?" Jamie asked Dean as she stood in the dimly lit parking lot wondering where she now stood with him.

"I think she's a lot like Carter," he told her running his finger lazily up her arm causing her to shiver, "Played too long and too hard in the gray areas of a black and white world."

"You think she knows right from wrong?" Jamie asked. She was clearly worried about the newest addition to Carter's team.

"Oh, yeah…and just like Carter she uses both to her advantage."

"Do you think she's here to replace him? Because of the Ryan thing?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders but didn't seem overly concerned, "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"What are you gonna do?" Jamie asked suspiciously.

"Whatever I have to do to keep my job…and my life."


	3. Chapter 3

Cursing Russell Maynard for the hundredth time Ciarin pushed her shoulder length, thick red hair behind her ears and changed position again and flexed frigid fingers while her toes grew even more numb. She hated the cool, sometimes downright cold, LA nights and longed for the hot, humid nights in Louisiana. She also hated her new assignment, had hated it from the moment it had been offered to her, but what choice had she had?

Wiping her nose on a shredded tissue her eyes were drawn to the dark form far ahead and to the right of her. It was the girl, her shoulders hunched against the night chill. Jamie Allen struck her as a slightly naive gung ho type. Not yet as skilled in the workings of the fine art of deception as the others she could be a possible detriment in the field while she learned the ropes. But what she lacked in experience she more than made up for with her ability to lie straight to your face. Ciarin had never seen anyone so young quite as good. But she wasn't as good as Carter...or herself.

Among other things, Carter Shaw knew full well that Jamie Allen was sleeping with Dean Bendis and it didn't seem to bother him at all. It bothered Ciarin, though, because she knew that the shit always hit the fan when partners became fuck buddies and Jamie had definitely grown even colder toward her after she found out that Dean had hit on her.

In addition to being a perceived threat to Jamie's "happily ever after" she was the new kid on the block and they weren't going to let her play and when Carter bothered to ask her if she was doing okay, Ciarin managed to only let a little bit of the anger and resentment slip out. She'd fully expected that they would close ranks around Carter to protect him from the unfounded threat of being replaced and that didn't bother her. What bothered her was the fact that she had been forced to settle for a new career path, one that she wasn't thrilled to be traveling, and a path that had led her directly to Carter Shaw.

So she wasn't invited to go drinking with them. Carter's unorthodox behavior and irregular schedule rarely had him included in the bonding process and besides she was used to being alone. Since the day she had graduated from the academy she had been married to the job and her love affair with law enforcement had cost her two marriages in addition to now be tainted just for doing her job.

Looking down at the ground Ciarin again tapped the earpiece in her ear as it continued to snap, crackle and pop and, instead of voices, she could only hear a barely audible hiss. Sighing she looking back up and her stomach lurched and her heart started to hammer and adrenalin rushed her system.

The red dot of a laser scope was meandering its way up Jamie Allen's back no doubt on it's way to stop directly on the back of her head and crouching down Ciarin took a few tentative steps then broke cover all together and ran toward the building behind her searching the windows desperately but in vain for the shooter. "Allen!" she whispered harshly into the mic, "Jamie, goddamn it."

Receiving no reply Falconer's heart sped up a notch and she tried reaching someone else. "Shaw!" she whispered harshly but again she got no reply as the laser scope ceased its journey and came to rest on Jamie's watch cap. Pulling her Sig Sauer from her shoulder holster Ciarin extended her hand and squeezed the trigger. Jamie yelped in surprise as the bullet hit her in the thigh and her leg collapsed under her. She toppled over sideways to the ground under a shower of brick shards.

Ripping the defective communications gear from her head Ciarin flung it out into the parking lot and took off at a run in the direction of the shot. She found the ally deserted and the shooter undoubtedly headed for parts unknown. Returning to the building she found Jamie's hands clutching her thigh as she moaned softly and removing the fallen cop's communications gear Ciarin jammed the bud into her own ear and centered the sensitive mic in front of her mouth.

"Officer down!" she said in a loud clear voice sure the shooter was long gone and then turned to assess Jamie's wound. She flicked on her penlight, stuck it in her mouth to free up both hands and pried the young officer's clutching hands away from her leg. Blood pumped robustly from the ragged hole in her pant leg. Shucking off her holster and spare clips Ciarin pulled her belt through her pant loops and wrapped it around Jamie's leg just above the wound and pulled with all her might.

"Falconer, where are you?" It was Shaw's voice loud and clear and tinged with the anger of worry.

The tail end of the sweep where you assigned me you son of a bitch she thought bitterly but replied, "Around back. Allen's been hit."

The huge, ungainly loading dock doors protested nosily as they were hurriedly pushed open, man handled by both Ty and Dean. Sprinting to the edge of the loading dock, Dean strained to see in the dark.

"Over here!" Ciarin called to him shinning the flashlight in his direction then returned the light to Jamie's face to check her eyes.

"God, it hurts," Jamie whimpered as her pupils constricted into pinpricks, a good sign that she was still responsive and not going into shock yet.

Dean saw Ciarin's light and, bypassing the steps, launched himself off the dock. Landing hard in the street he ran toward them. He reached the two of them and squatted next to Ciarin and reached for his own light. "What the fuck happened?" he asked.

Never considering the consequences of her actions Ciarin simply started, "I shot her..."

"You fucking what?" On her before she could continue Dean grabbed her by the throat, pulled her to her feet and shoved her against a wall breaking her tenacious hold on the makeshift tourniquet.

"You fucking shot her," Dean answered his own question and his fingers squeezed tighter allowing no air in and no explanation out, "You fucking bitch."

Clearly Dean's anger was uncontrolled and Ciarin pulled her back-up Smith and Wesson P99 from the holster at the small of her back and brought it around, tucking it painfully into his gut.

"What? You gonna shoot me now?" he growled, the hint of a dare in his question as the adrenalin and the immediate threat of her gun excited him in a perverse way.

"Now, Dean," Ty said evenly as he trotted up to stand next to the duo, his backup weapon snubbed up against Bendis' temple, "I got him, Ciarin. Now ease up girl."

Headlights blazed as Carter's Challenger rounded the corner bathing the dark ally in light and illumination the odd Mexican standoff. Jumping from the driver's seat he stalked up to the trio but Ciarin couldn't see him. Sparkling dots floated before her eyes and she gave serious thought to pulling the trigger just to get some much-needed air into her lungs. She let the piece fall to the ground instead.

Dean continued to hold her neck in his vise like grip until Ty jammed both arms up between his arms and, pushing outward, broke his partner's tenacious grip.

Falling to the ground Ciarin gagged, coughed and sucked in the cool night air so long withheld. Everything burned…the skin of her neck, her throat as she tried to swallow and her lungs as she drew in the life saving air. "_Goddamn, I hate California,"_ she thought as darkness enveloped her.

Squatting next to her Ty felt for a pulse and, finding it strong and steady, removed his jacket. He lifted Ciarin's head and gently rested it on the makeshift pillow while the distant wail of a siren brought Dean, his chest heaving, his taut body shaking with anger, back among the sane.

Staring down at the senior officer's prone form Dean shook his head. He had never before truly raised his hand to a woman in anger, hell; he'd never even met a woman he didn't like…until this one and turning on his heel he began to make his way back to Jamie. As he did he felt the iron grip of his supervisor on his shoulder and stopped short. Turning his head Dean's eyes met the cold blue orbs of Carter Shaw his silent demand for an explanation clearly in them.

"She shot her, goddamn it, Carter!" Dean ground out tightly running his shaking hand across his stubbled head.

"And you didn't wait for an explanation?" Carter asked.

Dean blew off the question. "She's a fuckin' loose cannon," he stated flatly as he glanced down at her once again, "A bona fide psycho bitch from hell and I ain't gonna work with her…or for her!" Shrugging Carter's hand off he walked to where Jamie lay and squatted beside her. He saw the fear and pain in her eyes along with her confusion and said to her, "You'll be okay, Jamie. I promise you, I'll take care of everything." The last of his words were shouted over his shoulder, a not so veiled threat although the intended recipient couldn't hear him.


	4. Chapter 4

Walking up to the hospital bed Ty Curtis shouldered his way past Dean Bendis to find a smiling, doped to the gills Jamie, her injured leg heavily bandaged and resting in a sling affixed to the overhead rails of the bed. "How ya doin' little mama?" the black man asked and affectionately squeezed the young woman's shoulder.

"I'm good, Ty, really good," Jamie's eyes fairly spun in her head, her words coming out thick and slow as they rolled off her unwieldy tongue.

Dean moved around to the far side of the bed and with his anger still boiling just below the surface and said, "She's goddamn lucky to be alive! A centimeter or two to the right and that bitch would have severed her fucking artery."

"Well, God wasn't the only one watching out for you last night," Ty said as he fished in his pocket and produced a piece of copper mushroomed out and about the size of a quarter. He tossed it onto the blankets and continued, "Found it next to where you went down. The cuts on your face are more than likely from exploding brick."

Dean, now fairly subdued, stared down at the flattened mass as Ty explained further. "That's what's left of a .300 Win Mag Black Talon. Would have shoved the back of your head out through your pretty little face," Ty told them as Jamie shuddered and picked up the metal and held it unsteadily in front of her eyes. "I also found this in the parkin' lot," he said holding up Ciarin's mic and, looking pointedly at Dean, said, "Piece a crap doesn't work…just like she said."

"I tested all the gear before I issued it," Dean said in his defense.

"Well, it sure doesn't work now, brother," Ty replied with barely contained anger of his own. He then gave Jamie's shoulder another squeeze and turned to head for the door but not before tossing the faulty communications gear to the petulant Bendis. "Like she said."

Ty Curtis was angry and after a tongue lashing that very morning from Melissa he was ashamed. Ashamed for having, along with Jamie and Dean, condemned Ciarin Falconer without any real cause. He felt guilty as hell for having ignored her in the hospital, to leave "one of their own" to go it alone. Making his way down the hallway to her room he found it empty, a crumpled hospital gown in a heap on the floor. Ty left the room and headed for the nurse's station where he confronted the first nurse he came to and demanded, "When was Lieutenant Falconer released?"

Checking her charts the older Hispanic nurse shook her head, "She hasn't been released yet. Her doctor hasn't been through on rounds yet."

"Damn!" Ty swore and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

"What do you mean gone?" Carter demanded into his phone.

"Just what I said. I'm thinkin' she's kinda like this other cop I know. Hates hospitals way more than being in pain."

"Watch it, Ty," Carter warned Ty sternly, "I'm on my way to a meeting with Maynard now. I'll check the war room."

"I'll check that rat hole she's been stayin' in and let you know if I turn up anything. Good luck on explaining to the Captain how we lost his girl."

Carter flipped his cell phone closed and tossed it onto the Challenger's seat next to him. What was he going to tell Maynard? That they had written Ciarin Falconer off long before the botched warehouse raid? Fearing that the department _had_ brought her in as his replacement he hadn't been openly hostile but certainly curt and exceedingly non supportive, his demeanor setting the tone for the rest of the group. He thought back to his behavior of the past weeks and, although it was said that he was a prick at the best of times, he had made absolutely no effort to bring her into the fold. He'd done quite the opposite in fact.

Hell, he knew nothing lasted forever and that some day he could be yanked out of the field or even killed in the line. Nothing was certain and the more he thought about it, he had never heard for sure that she had been brought on board as his replacement. He had only heard unsubstantiated rumors from sources that may not have had his or Falconer's best interests at heart.

Pissed now that he had let things get so far out of hand, for letting the freeze out go on as long as it had, Carter remembered she was a fellow cop and, despite her checkered past, no more or less a fuck up than any of the others he had fought so hard to recruit and to keep. He should have believed in her the way Captain Maynard did. He should have looked beyond her abrupt manner and the way she played things so close to the vest.

After Ty had told him about the shot that had just missed Jamie and of the faulty com equipment Carter was convinced that there was good reason for her demeanor and, that in reality, Ciarin Falconer was no more taciturn than Dean Bendis when he wasn't on the prowl or himself for that matter. She was also far less tolerant of prejudice than Ty Curtis on a bad day and no more guarded than Jamie Allen on a good day. In other words, a perfect fit.

Knowing now that he should have read between the lines, considered the source of the innuendo and found out what really had gone down in New Orleans before condemning her, he hoped it wasn't too late to, if not choke out an apology, then to make amends but the war room was empty. On his desk lay a folded piece of plain white paper pulled from the copy machine. 'I quit' was scrawled across it in large angry letters. Grabbing the paper Carter headed downstairs to Captain Maynard's office. He suspected that there would be hell to pay and because of his rank he was in charge of petty cash.

"I found this on my desk a few minutes ago."

Russell Maynard took the hastily scrawled letter of resignation and sighed. "Sit down, Carter."

Carter sat across the desk from the long-suffering police Captain who just sighed again and laid a crumpled cocktail napkin with a leprechaun and Casey's Irish Bar printed on it out on the desktop. He slid it across to Carter who picked it up and read 'Russell, with all due respect...fuck this shit.'

Carter slid the resignation back across the desk but Maynard held up his hand. "Take it with you. I believe that you'll find her there," and as Carter picked up the napkin and stood up to go, Maynard added, "She likes Connemara when she's pissed."

Carter's eyebrow raised, "What does she like when she's in a good mood?"

"You can't afford it," Maynard replied with a smirk on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

The rich amber liquor burned Ciarin's raw throat as she upended the glass and finished off her drink. Catching the bartender's eye she signaled for another of the same.

Shaw scanned the bustling bar and spotted her in the back. The booth in which she sat was deep in the shadows but affording her a direct view of the door. He watched as her hand stilled for a fraction of a second before setting her empty glass back down on the table. It then went to her neck, her fingers feathering her bruised skin but other than that Ciarin gave no indication that she saw him enter the bar.

He walked to the back and stood next to her table, his tall form blocking the light, but she only continued to drink, her eyes fixed on her glass.

"Mind if I join you?"

'_Fuck! Doesn't he know a pity party's by invitation only?' _she thought and then realized just who had extended the invitation, '_Russell Maynard'. _The man knew her too well and was more than likely telling this man, who still stood expectantly by the table's edge despite her continued silence, way too much. She refused to look up but she did finally acknowledge Carter by stating her feelings, "You know Lieutenant Shaw, I do mind."

Her refusal came out as a hoarse whisper, her throat still raw, her neck tender to the touch from the previous night's manhandling by Dean Bendis.

"What can I get you?" the waiter asked him as the young man came up behind Carter and reaching around him, placed the drink before Ciarin.

"The lyrics to "Hit the Road, Jack," Ciarin suggested and the waiter snorted and smiled until Carter looked at him.

Not wanting any trouble the waiter started, "Listen pal. In case you haven't noticed, this is a cop bar and…"

"Cop," Carter declared and the waiter's jaw snapped shut. He knew a cop when he heard one and he looked down at Ciarin, who had become somewhat of a regular in the months she'd been in L.A., and she just shrugged her shoulders and continued to sip her whiskey.

"Connemara," Carter then said and sat down in the booth, not in the seat across from her but directly along side of her, enjoying the reaction his close proximity elicited. Opposites attract but the two of them were more like magnets, repelling each other the closer they got. He could feel her body tense but to her credit she didn't give in to the urge to move closer to the wall and in fact forced herself to relaxed once again.

Since she'd met him Ciarin had never like being anywhere near Carter Shaw. He made her uneasy but she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly why. He had an intimidating demeanor but try as he had he simply couldn't bully her like he could the others. The only other member of Carter's team who seemed truly unfazed by his intimidating demeanor and the dark glaring looks was Dean Bendis and although she would never claim to know Shaw as well as Bendis, or really at all for that matter, she did know that his bark was worse than his bite. In truth he was more like a protective mother dog using nips and growls to keep her rowdy pups in check...and safe.

She had considered that maybe the fact of the matter was that he was simply too damned good looking for his own good. It was like he oozed testosterone out of every pour but it really didn't matter. She wanted no part of him socially and having quit she no longer had to deal with him on the job. So they sat in silence until his drink arrived.

"To men who know when an apology is in order," he lifted his glass to her, his demeanor grave, "And to the women who are men enough to accept it."

"Asshole," she croaked out, a surprised smile fleetingly playing on her lips.

Turning to her his blue eyes locked with her green ones as he spoke, his voice quiet when he told her, "I am sorry about all of it. I was in charge and I shouldn't have let thing go as far as they did."

Using one of his own tactics Ciarin remained stoic, refusing to fill in the awkward silence that followed his apology. '_Twist in the wind, you bastard,'_ she thought vengefully sipping her drink, her silence forcing him to change tact.

"Your file…" he began then, at a loss for words, he stopped and began again, his voice mildly incredulous this time. "Have you seen your file?"

She looked at him dubiously, surprised by his new tact, and snorted her affirmation and at the same time her contempt for the paperwork that followed her wherever she went.

"Kinda makes ya stand up and take notice," he told her, "One day you're receiving your department's highest honor and six months later you're suspended without pay. A thick stack of glowing accolades with letters of reprimand layered in between. Top evaluations one month, deemed unfit for duty the next." He shook his head in wonder and took another sip of the smooth liquor before continuing. "And you're a departmental gypsy, to say the least, not only transferring within departments but around the country. You've obviously done some things right or you wouldn't have been promoted but Falconer, tell me what in the hell is going on. Help me to understand."

"Maybe you should become more proficient at reading between the lines," she told him.

"Not much good at departmental politics or intrigue," he admitted, "but I thought I was fairly adept at reading between the lines."

"Well, you were well off the mark this time," she said leaning back in the booth fuming at his heretofore lack of support. "If it will help shed some light I can sum up my entire career in a few words for you, Lieutenant Shaw." He looked at her expectantly and she told him, "It's a man's world."

Carter cocked an eyebrow and she sighed knowing she would have to explain it all... again. "I've run into two types of men in my career in law enforcement. Men like you, who have a tendency to dismiss women in LE out of hand because you think we can't do the job as well because we don't have a dick. And men like, oh let's say, Dean Bendis who think all women in LE will sleep with them because they do. I'm damned if I do and reprimanded or "offered" a transfer if I don't."

"That explains some of the half assed reprimands," he said with a crooked smile, "In a perfect word it would be noble to be rated solely on our merits but we all know there are some dinosaurs left in the ranks who truly think a woman's place is in the home…or laid out across a desk with her legs up in the air."

Ciarin winced at the picture he painted and added from her own experience, "It's not only the men. The women can be the worst, especially if they've reached a position of power and consider any other female in the ranks a threat."

"I know it works both ways. I've had my backside pinched more than once over the years, one time by the C O D."

"How'd you handle it?"

"Grinned and 'bared' it."

She snorted derisively not believing him for a second. He was a straight up kind of guy and would have accepted the consequences for rejecting his department's commanding officer's advances, male or female, before mixing unwanted pleasure with business just as she had. "So if you're a kindred spirit then why do you let Bendis run amok?" she asked him point blank

"Okay, I'll admit Dean comes on pretty strong but he knows all too well that no means just that…no. He's just a firm believer of 'it can't hurt to ask a few more times just to make sure'. And he's been slapped more times than Larry Fine."

Ciarin smiled surprised that, even as a kid, the reticent, single minded cop sitting next to her had ever watched the Three Stooges.

"And as for his being enamored of you," Carter told her, "I imagine that died a quick death when you shot Jamie."

"Well, he is fucking her and for what it's worth I don't feel I know Jamie well enough to take a bullet for her."

Carter signaled for more alcohol and told her truthfully, "It was a good call on your part. I'd settle for an unorthodox save of one of my guys any day compared to the alternative."

"Still, it pretty much sucks ass to be shot," she said and having been up close and personal with the business end of more than one gun Carter agreed.

They sat in what Carter hoped was companionable silence until more Connemara arrived

"Now tell me about the commendations," he commanded.

"I earned every last one of them," she said defensively, his inquisition becoming a real buzz kill, "And I can show you the scars to prove it."

The thought of her doing just that was intriguing but at that moment Carter was more interested in what made her tick so he just remained silent until she offered up more.

"I'm good at what I do, Carter...when I'm allowed to do it," she said with sad resignation.

The waiter returned to the table with the drinks and Carter suggested, "Why don't you just bring the bottle with you next time?"

"Sorry pal, no can do."

Carter reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an identification wallet and flipped it open. The waiter looked at the badge then the name on the ID card.

"Sure thing, Agent Stiles," the waiter said with a smile.

"Special Agent in Charge Stiles," Carter corrected him without batting an eye.

Ciarin had gotten a good look at the badge Carter had flashed. It was ATF issue and she just shook her head.

Returning the ID to his breast pocket Carter smiled shamelessly and told her, "It's good to be the king."


	6. Chapter 6

When the waiter had gone Carter moved ever so slightly, his thigh brushing against hers and she felt the tension kick up a notch once again. "So Falconer," he said turning the conversation back to the shooting, "just who _would_ you take a bullet for?"

She glanced sideways at him and saw he was serious, just as IAD would be serious when they investigated her latest officer involved shooting, something they would have to complete even after accepting her resignation.

"If I know someone well enough and truly respect them there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect them...but it's gotta be mutual. You know that. There's not one person on your team who wouldn't go to the wall for you."

Carter upended his drink and setting the glass back down on the table admitted, "I don't know about that."

Ciarin just stared at him and let him know, "Well, as I said before…you're an asshole."

He threw his head back and laughed knowing she was right on both counts. His people _would_ go to the wall for him and he was, at times, a major asshole.

Ciarin's finger touched the build-up of condensate on the glass of ice water sitting before her allowing the liquid to break its hold on the slick surface and slide to the tabletop. Closing her eyes she picked it up and rested it against her forehead, the cold glass easing the furious pounding therein. Oxygen deprivation evidently left one with a powerful headache…or maybe it was just a headache. Tilting the glass to her lips she let the cold liquid slid down her aching throat while her other hand touched the finger shaped contusions Dean Bendis' strong hands had left behind on her neck in his fit of rage. "_Fucking dick,"_ she thought again, _"Maybe I should have just let whoever it was blow Jamie's head off."_

The thought was dismissed as quickly as it had flitted through her mind. No, the young woman was basically a good cop and with the right person to guide her would one day be a first rate undercover cop. Ciarin would have been willing to take her in hand, give her a female's perspective on how things worked, had she been given the reins of Carter's unit as rumor had it. But it was all a moot point now.

Loathing her split second decision to shoot Jamie Allen Ciarin would probably do it again under the same circumstances. A bullet wound, no matter how slight, was debilitating both physically and mentally and she wondered if the young cop could forgive her the desperate measure?

As if reading her mind Carter leaned in closer, his elbow touching hers as their arms rested on the tabletop, and told her, "She won't hold a grudge. Ty explained what happened to her and to Dean, too. They'll eventually apologize and let you think it's all forgotten 'till you get so seriously full of yourself that they'll drag it up and beat you over the head with it." Ciarin lifted a delicately arched auburn eyebrow and he admitted, "That's what they do to me. They keep me grounded; keep me from taking things so hard." Carter paused and then smiled to himself as if he had just discovered the truth of the matter, "They keep me sane," he told her and then added, "You'll appreciate having them as your team."

"If, and that's a big if, Russell even has that in mind," she reminded him, "I think he's just trying to find a place to park my ass 'til this New Orleans thing blows completely over. Not that you don't deserve to be promoted right out of the job." She switched back to the Connemara and took another sip and told him what he already knew, "It's a moot point anyway. I tendered my resignation."

"You mean this?" he asked holding up the cocktail napkin, "I don't think Captain Maynard took you seriously what with the leprechaun and all."

Ciarin smiled wanly, no joy in her slightly wonky eyes, and Carter knew he had fed her enough alcohol to get some answers to many of his questions. "Tell me about New Orleans," he said pushing some errant strands of her hair behind her ear before turning his whole body toward her, his arm on the back of the booth.

Carter watched as her chin quivered slightly before she cleared her throat and reached for the bottle the waiter had left for them. New Orleans had been a carefully orchestrated execution; only the primary target, Ciarin Falconer, had gotten away. She would never, ever forget Parker Evans' surprised look and his red faced anger when she'd come upon him so far away from his assigned post. He should have been high atop the catwalk of the warehouse as he was Team Alpha's first line of defense against the bad guys, the one assigned to watch their backs from above as they swept the area.

If he had been at his post he would have taken out the shooter before he sighted his weapon in on the back of Douglas' blond, crew cut head blowing his brains out through his once handsome face. He would have, he should have, taken Darian Cray out long before he blew Kevin Dougherty's heart into a million pieces, the stunned agent's dark brown eyes still staring in disbelief long after the rest of the teams had came in to mop up. Evans should have put a slug squarely between Cray's eyes without even breaking a sweat long before the dirt bag had done the very same thing to the rook, Summers. His first time out and she couldn't protect the young man with the Okie accent, a penchant for chewing tobacco and his high school sweetheart.

Ciarin couldn't get the look of cold, accusatory hatred emanating from the young widow as she stared at her from across the grave, wondering why the bitch hadn't been killed along with her husband and the others, out of her mind. But Evans could have saved them all if he had been at his post and, more importantly, not working for a drug dealing scumbag like Howard Maven, Darian Cray's boss.

Hearing the first shots, Ciarin had called for response and when she got nothing she ran from the surveillance van into the warehouse, her Sig Sauer drawn, the slide engaged. She first searched the catwalk sure she would see the limp body of agent Parker Evans, his life's blood dripping slowly to the floor below, but she saw no one and was relieved and curious at the same time. Where was Evans?

Crossing quickly to the far corner of the large warehouse she did see that Douglas had been gunned down as he had attempted to enter one of the small offices along the north wall and that Summers was a short distance away, sitting almost serenely against the wall just inside the east door, the small entrance wound on his forehead belying the mass of bone and brain clinging to and dragged down the wall behind the shattered skull. The rookie's gray eyes stared through her as she touched his neck for any sign of life.

She found Kevin Dougherty's body lying face up, the delicate entrance wound over his heart barley noticeable, while the vulgar exit wound still leaked blood and gore onto the concrete floor. Wondering where she would finally find Evans' body and very much aware that the killer could still be in the building she slipped silently into the adjacent warehouse and came to a dead stop. Whistling!

She heard the faint tones of the theme from the Magnificent Seven, the song Evans whistled incessantly until they all wanted to throttle him. It was coming from the far side of the cavernous building, behind a dozen or so 55-gallon drums of Phenylacetone. Making her way toward the off key whistling she came face to face with the man she had worked with for more than five years.

Genuinely shocked to see her standing before him his head swiveled first to the right then to the left.

"Looking for Cray, you son of a bitch? I'm sure he rabbited outta her the moment he saw I wasn't in the van." Three men lay brutally murdered and he was whistling!

"You fucking bitch!" Evans ground out between gritted teeth, "The bastard was supposed to do you first." The shock of seeing her still alive passed quickly to be replaced by a profuse rage as his hand inched to his side arm.

A fury to match his welled up inside of the op commander and Ciarin Falconer growled, "You miserable fuckstick! You set us up," and dropped her gun hand to her side, the realization of his betrayal hitting her like a kick in the gut.

"Maven just wanted you, you sanctimonious bitch," he delighted in telling her, "The others were just collateral damage."

"Collateral damage?" she said not quite believing what she had just heard and Evans shrugged his shoulders. "Collateral damage," she repeated and raised her arm again to point her weapon at his head.

Evans, knowing he couldn't beat her bullet to his brain pan before he reached his sniper's rifle laying atop one of the drums, squatted down ostensibly to assume the position, to give up, which would have been fine by her. Seconds later she had thought she saw him moving his hand toward his ankle but it was when he winked at her, a smug smile breaking out on his face, that she had emptied the Sauer's clip into him and the next thing she knew Beta team was sweeping the warehouse and her supervisor was kneeling before her checking for injuries. She was unscathed; her entire team annihilated and she was literally holding a smoking gun.

Ciarin was relieved of duty pending the outcome of the investigation and subsequent hearings and although forensics proved that only Evans had been shot with her weapon and that Evans had indeed had a back up gun strapped to his ankle the death threats had begun. Her CO, calling in a favor from Russell Maynard, deemed it prudent to get her the hell out of Dodge while IAD investigated.

"I shot the son of a bitch and I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she said passionately, her emerald gaze hard and sharp as she stared at the man next to her. She then broke eye contact, turning her head to stare at the rip in the vinyl seat across from her, and he watched her profile, the muscles bunching at her jaw as she clenched her teeth.

"I'd have done the same."

"Don't patronize me," she snapped turning on him, her face angry, her eyes pained.

A few of the other patrons turned toward them until Carter's stare made them uncomfortable enough to forgo any further eavesdropping. When he turned back to face her, her face softened and she said quietly, "I think he was giving up, was going to let me take him in. I think I just lost it…big time."

Knowing that she had put the rogue cop Evans down like a rabid dog, Carter wouldn't judge her harshly or at all for that matter and told her again, "I'd have done the same."

Exhaling the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding Ciarin twisted her glass in trembling hands. Reliving that terrible night again had taken its toll and tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill down her flushed cheeks.

Carter reached out and took her cold hand in his and squeezed. It was okay he told her without so much as a word.

Ciarin heaved a watery sigh. She had wanted to dislike Carter Shaw from the moment she had first met him and was doing an admirable job up until that moment. She had wanted to protect those she worked with so badly that when she failed through no fault of her own and had come face to face with that failure, she had gone a little crazy. Hell, she had gone a lot crazy but Carter got it

At times she thought she remembered Evans starting to go for his weapon but as the days turned into weeks and her memory faded; she sometimes felt she had simply shot him in anger, the overwhelming need for vengeance blinding her momentarily to the fact he was surrendering. Had she been in danger or had she killed the man because he had so callously allowed Cray to waltz in and blow away the other men under her command, her friends? Seeing the slaughter had made her feel so helpless, so out of control. Had she taken back control by firing nine rounds into Evans when the first shot had been fatal? Ciarin just didn't know anymore but she was sick to death of beating herself up over it and Shaw's quiet affirmation of her actions lifted some of the crushing weight from her slim shoulders and they sat together in companionable silence.


	7. Chapter 7

The storm caught them by surprise, soaking them through to the skin as they ran the six blocks to where his car was parked, Ciarin giggling like a goofy kid as he dragged her along behind him. She was absolutely feeling no pain or the torrential rain that pelted them; just the false feeling of well-being that accompanied copious amounts of alcohol and, once seated next to him, the cold took hold and she began to shiver. Her teeth chattered to the point where she could barely speak...if she'd had a cognitive thought in her head to impart.

"The heat'll be on in a minute," he assured her feeling her trembling beside him. The day, one that had started out so deceptively sunny and warm, had given way to a rainy night and, having been lulled into a false sense of weather security, Carter had taken his heavier jacket and spare blanket iout of his car and had nothing to offer her in the way of warmth. Leaning forward he switched on the heat as the powerful engine warmed up and suddenly he felt pressure against his side. Instinctively he reached out to put his arm around his passenger and to ask her directions to the motel where she was billeted but she collapsed bonelessly against him, her head slipping down to finally rest in his lap.

Laughing softly he brushed a strand of dripping hair from her cheek. If he wasn't careful he might find himself actually liking this not so tough cookie and Carter wondered what it would be like to know she would take a bullet for him. Nice, he suspected as he pulled out into the light traffic and heading for his home.

Hauling her limp form from the Challenger's passenger seat he hoisted her slight frame over one shoulder and hoped she wouldn't throw up down his back. Mixing booze and the Darvoset she had boosted from the hospital was, at best, a lethal combination and, at worst, could caused projectile vomiting and Carter would need to watch her carefully throughout the night. He couldn't risk taking her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped and have the incident become a matter of record and struggling to get his keys in the lock, the effects of the Connemara affecting his dexterity, he wondered who would watch him. But with a pot of hot coffee he would be as sober as a judge…if he could just get the damned door open.

Ten minutes later he sat on the edge of his bathtub, a cup of coffee in his hand. Carter knew he would be fine but Ciarin Falconer, now she was going to hate herself in the morning. The undercover cop, so prickly with pride and so armored in self-protection, was down on her knees puking up her guts in his bathroom, moaning between heaves, completely at the mercy of the night's excess. Lifting her head she turned and blinked owlishly at him and opened her her mouth to speak but he twisted her head around and pushed it forward again over the bowl as more of the copiously liquid erupted from within.

"Jush shoot me, Shaw," she begged.

"Not on your life, Falconer. This will be stored in my memory banks for a long, long time," he said sounding almost gleeful.

Cairin shot him a crossed-eyed but nonetheless scathing look and he just laughed.

"It's not often I get to hold onto a bitch on wheels while she prays to the porcelain god. It does my heart good to know you're human like the rest of us."

"Fuck you, white knight," she moaned, "and the horse you rode in on."

Carter's' cell phone jangled impatiently and removing it from the clip on his belt he continued to rub her back soothingly as he flipped it open. Shaw," he said and waited for a response while Ciarin heaved again loud enough for Ty to hear her on the other end of the line.

"I take it you found her," he said with a snort.

"She's here with me at my place, down on her knees thankin' the good Lord that I did."

"I hate you!" floated through the receiver and Ty chuckled. Leave it to Carter to finally break through that icy veneer of hers, if only by plying her with alcohol, and broker an uneasy peace. His boss hadn't sounded so relaxed since the other senior agent had come aboard…or forever for that matter. Ty knew his boss would never tender this night for office fodder but he would also never let Ciarin Falconer forget it. It would never be a topic of conversation around the water cooler but with a well placed word or well aimed look Carter would never let her live it down.

Ty himself would never mention it and he hoped it drove her crazy because with her selfless act of saving Jamie's life, to him, she'd become one of them and he would gladly follow her into hell as readily as he would follow any of the other members of his "family". "Want me to call Captain Maynard?"

"See you Monday," was all Carter said and Ty took that as a yes.

Still in the bathroom Ciarin sat back on her heels and sighed shakily, her body convulsing with chills, her soaked clothes freezing her to the bone. Grabbing a bath towel from the rack, Carter began toweling off some of the moisture.

"Ssss'oooo cold," she hissed through chattering teeth.

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes and into a hot shower," he suggested and started to unbutton her blouse.

She meekly acquiesced trying to help with fingers unwieldy from alcohol and stiff from the cold. "Don't you dare be nice to me," she warned him and he smiled lazily at her.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he assured her then slipped the navy blue utilitarian turtleneck she had on under her blouse over her head.

The next morning Ciarin woke to the nauseating smell of bacon and the passable vocals of a man singing along to the radio as he rattled noisily around the kitchen. The mattress on which she lay was sizable and soft and resting on a sleek platform frame with mounds of twisted sheets and blankets piled haphazardly at the foot. It was a bed she had never seen before, in a room she had never been in before with low ceilings and plush drapes and she was buck-naked. "Falconer, you have _GOT_ to stop drinking," she admonished herself as the events of the past 36 hours crowded one another as they tried to blast through her fog shrouded brain.

Her hand went to her throat and pressing tender skin she remembered Bendis had tried to kill her. Then after making good her escape from the hospital she had ended up in a seedy little dive in Northsomething Hollywood but not before tendering her resignation to Russell Maynard, yet again. Shaw had tracked her down there but how had she ended up here and just exactly where _was_ here? With a sigh she rolled over onto her stomach and closed her eyes and was sure that when she opened them again she would be back in her little unmade bed in her little untidy Mainstay Suite practically overlooking the Five.

Carter found her laying diagonally across his bed, her nicely rounded ass rising up invitingly and his dick automatically came to attention. Bringing her aspirin and ice water he now hoped she liked cold, coagulated bacon because he knew he wouldn't make it back to the kitchen any time soon. He took a sip of the water sucking an ice cube into his mouth and set the glass on the bedside table. He then knelt on the bed hovering over her supine form.

Ciarin felt the mattress sink and, loathe to face the day and the inevitable music a night of drunken debauchery always commanded, she feigned sleep until he removed the ice cube from his mouth and pressed it to the nape of her neck, then ran it part way down between her shoulder blades.

Eyes still shut she took a sharp breath as the chill hit her and let it out slowly as a warm tongue followed in the wake of the cube. Goose flesh dimpled her skin as he played a while longer with the melting ice and Ciarin remained passive on the bed, savoring the wicked sensations.

Carter Shaw hadn't spoken a word but she recognized the expensive, sophisticated, minty/spicy scent of his cologne and a hint of toothpaste as he whispered, "Good Morning," into her mass of tangled auburn hair, his voice deeply soft and sexy.

Carter Shaw was definitely a night owl but at that moment he was a morning person. She was not. She would just lie there and let him do all the work as he covered her body with his, lifting her hair to kiss the nape of her neck "I guess we've gotten past our differences," she said against the soft sheet.

"Way beyond," he answered twisting to nibble her ear lobe, his weight still full upon her.

She didn't mind as the mattress was pure luxury and she sank in deeply and asked him, "Was it good for me?" and he just laughed.

"Oh, yeah," he drawled, "If your moans were any indication, it was especially good for you...and it will be again." He lifted her hips and pushed a pillow underneath her then pressed his swollen penis between the firm globes of her rear end. She lifted up, grinding into his hard on, until he moaned and she then opened her legs. Kneeling between them his hand guided his member between her slick folds.

"God, it is good," she thought as his continued thrusts brought her closer and closer to orgasm. She reached a plateau where the exquisite feelings stopped and lifted herself up onto her hands and knees to meet him thrust for thrust. Moments later she fell over the brink and the world's most incredible feelings washed over her and she cried out in pleasure. Carter bucked several times and moaned his release. It was music to her ears.

A taciturn and seemingly stoic professional Carter Shaw was a secure, passionate and vocal lover, something she appreciated. Some of the men she had been with in the past were so quiet that they never made a sound and she was always left to wonder if they'd been satisfied.

Carter continued to lie atop her, reluctant to remove himself from within her but he knew she couldn't hold his weight much longer. He wrapped his arm around her and rolled back and they lay spooning, breathing hard and slick with perspiration.

Ciarin arched her back and Carter could almost hear her purr. "Did we do that last night?" she asked huskily, eyes closed ready to drift back to sleep.

"'bout a hundred times."

"You braggart," she said reaching back to slap his ass playfully.

He grabbed her hand in his and whined plaintively, "You forced me. What was I gonna do? Tell you no? You have seniority."

Ciarin turned to face him in the bed and told him, "Damn straight, lieutenant."

Carter leaned in for a kiss but she pushed him back as fragments of the night before started coming back. "No fair. Puke breath," she pleaded turning away.

He placed his fingers on her chin and turned her face back to his. "Oh, I made you brush…a lot. And gargle. And spit for at least twenty minutes last night," he assured her and kissed her soundly, "See, not a frog."

"No, not a frog," she agreed and smiled at him.


	8. Chapter 8

Two days later the phone on the nightstand began to trill and Ciarin laughed when Carter groaned. The real world had finally encroaching upon them. He rose up to sit on the edge of the bed and picked up his cell. "Carter Shaw," he barked into the phone, a frown crossing his face as he listened.

"There's been another murder," Dean Bendis' voice said on the other end of the line, "and Captain Maynard's pissed. The news is all over this one, Carter."

"Since when is the fourth estate interested in dead prostitutes?"

"Since Jack screwed up and butchered an innocent waitress this time."

"Those other women weren't guilty of anything but being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Carter said hotly and Ciarin reached over, her cool hand messaging the tendon in his neck, the one that knotted up so tightly that his head actually tilted when he glared.

"Preachin' to the choir, boss," Dean said letting him know that they were on the same team and wavelength.

"Tell Maynard I'll be there in an hour."

"You live fifteen minutes from here," Dean reminded him and Carter could hear the smile on the young undercover cop's face, "What's gonna take you so long?"

"None of your Goddamned business, Dean," he said and hung up thinking friendship only went so far. He stood up and despite her protests pulled Ciarin off of the bed and into a standing position. Leaning in to kiss her he relayed the message, "We're off the drug bust. There's been another murder in Whitechapel."

"Jack?" she asked and when he nodded she began searching the room for any stray piece of her clothing and finding none asked, "Carter, where's my stuff?"

"Dryer," he told her then asked, "You up for this?"

"Jamie can't very well troll the street now, can she?" Ciarin replied the guilt she felt not far from the surface.

Carter's head tilted and he stared hard at her.

Glancing away she cleared her throat. "Sure, I just need to stop by my place and pick up a few things," and she ticked off her list, "Thong, cami, tight, microscopic dress and those godawful stilettos."

Carter smiled lazily at her. "I kind of like stilettos," he told her and pointed her to the bathroom for a quick shower

"Well, then you try running in them," she said over her shoulder.

Carter smiled as she shut the door. He knew that if tonight was their lucky night and things went well there would be no running. Ciarin would simply entice "Jack the Ripper" with her red hair, ruby red lips and bodacious body and take him into a seedy motel room on the strip, a room where she would be under constant surveillance and when she got him to spill his guts instead of hers he, Ty and Dean would all rush in to see that no harm befell her and to arrest the suspect.

"_All in a night's work",_ Ciarin thought as she bent over in the front seat of Carter's Challenger strapping herself into the platform heels of death while he explained the plan. Sitting back up she fluffed out her hair and reaching deep into the plunging décolletage of her ridiculously short dress she lifted her copious breasts, adjusting them to show them off to their best advantage.

Carter watched her surreptitiously and swallowed hard and she asked him, a mischievous look in her eye, "Too much?"

"Perfect," was all he said running a finger across the top of one breasts then, as he snaked his fingers down between her legs, he suggested, "Maybe later we can play well hung cop and soft, wet, hot, sweet mouthed prostitute."

"You'd like that, huh?" she asked then quickly changing the subject before he could answer. "We missed breakfast you know...and lunch and dinner…and breakfast and lunch and dinner again now thanks to Jack."

"Okay, okay, I get it," he conceded, "You're hungry."

"Starving, you cheap bastard," she told him in no uncertain terms, "Keeping me in bed just so you don't have to spring for a fancy restaurant. Unlike you, I can't live on those nasty fruit cups."

"I like fruit cups," he said plaintively and moved his finger gently smiling as her breath quickened.

"Well, I like fillet...and Christian Louboutin heels," she told him huskily and he laughed, shaking his head in wonder, still surprised by her bawdy sense of humor.

"I'll stop by Taco Bell," he promised her. The Challenger ate up the road as they headed back to the station, headlights illumination the pavement whizzing by before them until, rounding a blind turn, a car suddenly loomed up in the darkness with no hazard lights flashing to warn of its position as it completely blocked the road. Carter slammed on his brakes and came to a skidding stop, the nose of his car within inches of the disabled vehicle.

Illuminated by the Dodge's headlights Carter watched as a big boned, muscular, three hundred pound cretin dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt and black pants and holding a tire iron in his ham fisted grip stood up on the far side of the car. He had a stunned expresion on his face…or was it just a look of stupidity?

"Ever the white knight, eh, Carter?" Ciarin chided him good-naturedly. He removed his hand from between her thighs. His face remained passive but the squint of Carter's right eye told Ciarin that even at the best of times he was anything but.

"Like I have a choice," he snapped and stepped out of the car. Pulling his leather coat closed over his gun he shouted to the other driver, "The smart thing would have been to move this piece of shit to the side of the road before you started working on it!"

"Blow out," the cretin said shrugging his massive shoulders.

Carter walked to the far side of disabled vehicle and looked down. Neither of the tires was flat and, even though the dude outweighed him by at least a hundred and twenty pounds, Carter was about to grab the guy in the hoodie when a voice spoke to him from behind.

"But then a prick like you would never have stopped, would you Carter?" a second man said as he pushed the undercover cop roughly up against the car and relieved him of his weapon.

"You're right, Maher, I wouldn't have," Carter agreed recognizing the voice immediately as that of a felon he had put away nearly five years before.

Seconds before Carter was attacked Ciarin had leaned over to engage the hazard lights hoping to avoid an accident and when she sat back up the hooded figure had already circled around the beater and was at her door. Tapping on the window with the barrel of a snub nosed 38 he signaled for her to join them out on the street. She cautiously exited the vehicle silently berating herself for leaving her weapon back at Carter's and for taking her eyes off of him for that split second and for having to wear the damned hooker heels.

Together they walked, or she wobbled, to where Carter and the second man stood. A smile turned Maher's weasel eyes bright and he said, "Well, well, Saint Shaw, what have we here?"

"Just leave it, Maher," Carter warned but the wiry, ferret looking guy just stared at her.

Ciarin knew nothing good could come of any situation where two armed, one of whom seemed to know Carter Shaw by his given name, held them at gunpoint and utilizing her undercover persona she spoke up pointing to him. "Look, I don't know your friend here from Adam. He's just a trick with a sweet ride. You three can do your drug dealing or what ever it is you're doing in private," she looked pointedly at the gun still pointed at Carter, "I can hitch a ride back downtown." She held up her hands and started to take an unsteady step away hoping they'd be satisfied with only Carter but she was sadly mistaken.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," the man Carter had called Maher said grabbing her by the arm and roughly pulling her to him, "Seems like you just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"My timing always did blow," she agreed with a smirk quirking her lips.

"Along with those pretty lips, I bet," Maher added nuzzling her neck and it took all of Ciarin's control not to clock the peckerhead and get shot for all of her trouble.

"Listen Mahr, she's just some whore I picked up in North Hollywood. I thought I'd show her the error of her ways."

"Now just a minute friend, you're not my priest and…" Ciarin started and when Carter remained stoned faced and silent she turned her head to look at him in disbelief and Maher gave her another squeeze.

"God, he is a priest. Jesus fucking Christ. I really know how to pick 'em," she complained squirming to break free, then added brazenly, "This is turning into a "cloister" fuck so, if it's cool, I'm outta here."

The joke went way over Maher's accomplice's head and the hooded man said "You ain't goin' nowhere bitch," and yanked her out of Maher's grip. Pulling her arms behind her back he slipped a set of police issue handcuffs around her wrists and clamped them tight.

"Ouch! That's awfully tight there, numb nuts," she spat out but he just laughed and then did the same to Carter, who remained silent, his jaw locked, the muscles working furiously.

"This ain't no way to treat a lady," Ciarin pointed out as she was pushed roughly into the back seat of the Challenger.

Carter was shoved in beside her and Maher laughed as he got into the passenger's seat. He turned around to face her. "Lady? Who you kiddin'?"

As the hooded creature lumbered into the driver's seat and started the car Ciarin rolled her eyes and asked Carter "You know these pud knockers, Father?"

"Just the passenger," Carter replied, "Stuart Mahr. I put him away five years ago for trafficking. Don't know the Neanderthal."

"Put him away? What are you, a cop?" Ciarin asked innocently and the man in the driver's seat guffawed loudly.

"What a dumb fuckin' cunt," Mahr said dourly, "He's LAPD."

"Well, thank God for small favors," she continued thankful that her identification and badge were still in her locker back at the station, "At least he's not some pervy priest."

"He might think he's all high and mighty, like the Pope, but he's just a cop…with a record all full of holes."

Ignoring the insinuation that Carter's career was anything but spotless Ciarin said to Maher, her voice quavering with just the right touch of faux fear, "Listen man, this is really getting hairy. Please just let me go and as soon as I'm outta this car I'll forget I ever saw you…and I'll sure as hell forget I ever fucked him." She jerked her head toward Carter.

Maher shook his head and kept his gun trained on the back seat. "No! No way. I've been in the slam for five years and I'm sick of stickin' my dick up hairy asses. So you, me, Sonny and Carter here, we're gonna have ourselves a little party."

"Sure, why not? The more the merrier," Falconer's alter ego conceded, "But it's gonna cost extra."

Carter turned to her trying to warn her off with his stare because Mahr was a borderline psychopath. He didn't have a clue as to who Sonny was but from the looks of him he was pretty far down on the food chain.

Ciarin nodded slightly. She had received his message loud and clear but was helpless to do anything but shiver when Maher rasped out, his weasel eyes going cold as they stared directly at Carter, "Oh, it's gonna cost plenty."


	9. Chapter 9

They were traveling on the Five. The Challenger was just one of many nondescript muscle cars heading east on the overcrowded blacktop except that it had police lights in the grill, a siren, Kevlar vests, riot shotguns in the trunk and a LoJack system on board, all of the items so close yet so far away. The car exited off the highway heading north into an abandoned trucking yard, the cracked asphalt lot overgrown with weeds, the solid brick building spray painted with graffiti, windows broken like so many missing teeth in the building's eerie facade. Inside rats skittered and water dripped down rusted pipes from holes in the roof, drying into rust orange circles on the cement floors.

Pushed through a side doorway Ciarin stopped, her eyes surveying the dank warehouse interior searching for an avenue of escape until she was shoved again from behind. Tripping over broken wooden pallet pieces she went sprawling on the hard surface rolling onto her shoulder seconds before her face would have connected solidly with the solid, filthy concrete. "Watch it you fat son of a bitch," she hissed and was roughly pulled back onto her feet.

"I'll show you fat," Sonny laughed cupping his crotch.

Ciarin looked away fear coiling in her gut and spoke to Maher. "Listen, I got a couple a thousand in the bank. It's yours. Just let me go," she tried to bargain again, "I won't say nothin' to nobody."

"Can't let you go just yet, sugar. Party's just gettin' started," Maher replied and pulled up painfully on Shaw's tethered arms and pushed him forward toward a small office.

Carter grunted as pain shot through his shoulders and he found himself impotent to do anything but suffer in enraged silence.

No furniture remained in the office spaces, only a few scattered, filthy mattress brought in months if not years before by derelicts. "Well lookee here. We're all set up for a party now ain't we, sugar?" Maher said shoving Ciarin roughly and she fell face first onto the damp, reeking mattress.

Ciarin tried to roll over to get away from the fetid material but felt pressure on her back that forced her deeper into the mattress. Adrenalin pumped through her and she bucked up trying to toss off the booted foot that held her fast. As the situation deteriorated she could only guess what they had in store for her and Carter both as he hit the concrete floor next to the mattress. Seconds later, without provocation, Maher's boot connected with his face with a sickening thud before he walked away with Sonny boy in tow.

"Hey!" Ciarin whispered harshly after several minutes had passed with no movement from the downed undercover cop.

Carter groaned and slowly turned his face to her and she sucked in a breath, her nose wrinkling when she saw that his cheek had been laid open by the boot tip and blood flowed freely covering his cheek, nose and chin. His eyes blinked a few times and Ciarin saw his senses returning slowly. She tried to roll over onto her back, her plan to get to her feet and run, but she was again slammed into the mattress. The felon and the cretin had returned.

"It's party time," Maher announced and Ciarin heard the distinctive sound of a zipper and heard him order Sonny to keep Carter down.

"Let me turn over, it'll be a lot easier," she offered trying desperately to keep the fear and loathing from her voice. Having no doubt about what was to come next she might be able to head butt him or at least take a bite out of him once he the assault started…if she was on her back.

Maher just told her, "Old habits die hard, sweet cheeks. I don't want you on your back just yet." Ciarin again tried to roll over and he slapped the back of her head and knelt, his legs on either side of her, and leaning over he whispered in her ear, "You relax now or I'm gonna butt-fuck your boyfriend; first with my dick then with his own revolver," and she knew that if she could help it at all she couldn't let them do that to Carter.

Carter Shaw was strictly a woman's man, a throwback, a cowboy who lived life the cowboy way where the consequence were sometimes brutal but always fair. It would be a violation of the worst kind for him if he were raped by the felon and far more damaging for him than for her, she decided as Maher's hot, reeking breath continued to blow against her ear.

Feeling her relax Maher laughed softly. "That's better. Saved you're boyfriend there a whole lot of pain, him being a virgin and all. Unlike you I suspect. I imagine you've had it all kinds of ways in all kinds of holes."

"Yeah, sure," Ciarin said, her voice flat, destined to go along with him whether she wanted to or not, "Let's just get it over with so I can get outta here." Her voice quavered slightly at the end of her sentence as genuine fear took hold when she felt rough hands sliding up her thighs and under her skirt. She closed her eyes and remembered what she'd been taught. If an assault was inevitable, and neither fight nor flight was an option, she should acquiesce both physically and mentally.

Easier said than done she thought as she felt the thong being pulled down and her hips being raised up. Bracing for the attack she found it was much worse than she could have imagined and she cried out as overwhelming pain shot through her.

Maher grunted and laughed. Rape was the only sexual contact the drug dealer had ever experienced in his miserable life and the norm for the convict.

Mentally Ciarin moved on to a better place and surprisingly it was only a few miles away, in a sparsely decorated house where a man had made love to her and, when they had eaten the meager leavings in his nearly empty refrigerator, had fed her mixed fruit from a plastic cup with his fingers then licked the juice from between her breasts.

The memory didn't last long for either of them as the brutal assault continued and Carter's pain filled mind finally registered what was happening. Ciarin Falconer was being raped, sodomized, not more than a foot away from him as he lay on the floor of the warehouse trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, fat boy's booted foot pressed firmly down on his back.

Ciarin, her neck arched, her forehead resting on the filthy mattress, eyes closed, grimaced in pain as Maher's brutal pounding sent her head rhythmically forward again and again. Her breath hissed through viciously clenched teeth, blood bubbling around her mouth where she had bitten through flesh to keep from screaming.

Carter, his cheek rubbing the blood-slicked floor as he tried to maneuver closer to her, commanded, "Falconer, look at me!" His whisper was harsh, demanding her attention as he tried to break through to her but she was locked in the nightmare.

With a barely perceived shake of her head, she refused and let herself fall further into the horror, severing the tenuous link they had established before everything had gone so horrible wrong.

Finishing with a guttural growl Maher fell forward and, eye-to-eye with Carter, looked at the bound agent and smiled, his dead weight threatening to cut off Ciarin's air supply.

"She can't breath," Carter pointed out and the drug dealer lifted himself up on thin, wiry arms.

Maher's weight was gone from Ciarin as was the weight of Sonny's boot from Carter's back. He could hear shuffling feet and wondered anxiously if he would be next but instead of hands stripping away his jeans, he felt a pain so excruciating that it forced the air from his lungs and all thought from his mind as Maher's steel-toed boot connected, this time with his exposed ribs, fracturing bone and tearing cartilage.

Even though he wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, a muffled grunt was his only concession to the brutality of the attack and desperately sucking in short breaths of stale, sweat-laden air, he remained silent. He would not give them the satisfaction and, as he lay, his damaged cheek against the cold damp floor again, he closed his eyes and willed the pain to lessen and tried desperately to keep the threatening darkness at bay.

A sharp inhalation of breath followed by a muffled groan caused him to reopen his eyes and his stomach turned at the sight. Sonny had taken Maher's place on top of Ciarin, his noisy grunts punctuating each thrust.

"Look at me. Look at me, Falconer. Goddamn it!" He didn't know if he whispered it or screamed it at the top of his lungs or just thought it in his head but through his pain clouded vision he saw her head start to turn.

Her progression was slow but finally her green eyes came to rest locking with his. Her body shook with Sonny's every thrust. Carter looking for the spark that would let him know she was still with him and bile rose in his throat and burned as he swallowed it back down. Her eyes were completely, utterly dead.

"Don't you do it, don't you leave me here to face this alone. Don't you dare run out on me, Falconer," he warned her and suddenly it was there, the flash of anger Carter had seen so many times before. She was back and they were connected once again.

"I'm here, I'm here," she heard him choke out as saliva ran from his lips and blood from his cheek and Ciarin knew she would make it through if just to prove to him she could. Yes, he was there, his face so full of strength and determination despite the pain she saw in his deep blue eyes. Drawing on that strength she could shut out the grunts of her attacker, the unbearable pain and the humiliation. She could handle it as long as she could look into his face.

When Sonny was spent he, too, collapsed, his full weight on her. His sheer mass almost covered her completely and his bulk threatened to suffocate her as she could no longer expand her lungs to catch even the smallest breath.

"Get off her, you fat fuck!" Carter shouted and Sonny's eyes flew open. This wouldn't have been the first time his sexual appetite, along with his appetite for inflicting pain and suffering on those smaller than himself, had caused bodily harm and even death but Maher wasn't finished with the bitch yet. Sonny rolled over and awkwardly lumbered to his feet and followed the escaped drug dealer outside.

The bad guys were suddenly gone and the room was silent except for the pounding of Carter's own blood in his ears. But the sound wasn't loud enough to drown out the beginning of the small cry Ciarin Falconer choked off with intense ferocity.

Her eyes, now grown somewhat wild, had never left his but now that Maher and Sonny were done with her for the moment she closed them wearily and tears slipped beneath her lashes as muscles bunched at her jaw and she tried to keep the hysterical shrieking that threatened to escape behind clamped teeth.

Carter called to her again but she wouldn't look at him and turned her head away instead. He had helped her through the assault but now she couldn't bear to see the pity she knew would be in his eyes; couldn't stand for him to see the self-loathing in her own even as her mind told her it wasn't her fault. They were in a dangerous business that brought them in close contact with the scum of the earth but, nonetheless, she was ashamed that she hadn't been able to fight back, unable to get herself on even footing with Maher and Sonny where she could have fought tooth and nail to prevent the rape or taken a bullet trying.

Carter worked his way closer to her, the effort costing him a grate deal of pain and most of his strength and a whimper escaped her as his body made contact with hers at the shoulders. Ciarin started to reflexively move away and he hissed at her, "No, don't! Don't you pull away from me…ever!"


	10. Chapter 10

Ciarin couldn't help herself and moved further away from the undercover cop and Carter sighed in exasperation, his energy nearly depleted. He had lost her and he feared the next step would be that Ciarin Falconer would loose herself…again so he tried a desperation play. "So this is how it's gonna play out? You're gonna go back to that dark place inside of you where you think it's safe, where you think no one can see you, where no one can touch you."

"_Fuck you," _Ciarin thought and moved closer to the edge of the stinking mattress, away from Carter Shaw and his reverse psychology.

"Cut yourself off from friend and foe alike?"

"_Fuck you!" _she shouted silently as he hit the nail on the head.

"I guess your C.O. was right, packing you off to kindly Uncle Russell when things got a little hairy in the Big Easy. Only you didn't know he'd send your ass right back into the field, did you?"

"_Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" _Ciarin didn't care that Russell Maynard had put her back on duty. She had fully expected it, had wanted it, but what she hadn't expected or wanted was to end up getting involved in a vendetta against Carter Shaw. This was his town, his mess and here he was haranguing her, the victim of a past collar.

"Maybe you figured it'd be easier here," he continued, "That the scumbags weren't as bad in L.A. Well I've got news for you, Falconer, they're the goddamn worst."

She suddenly found her voice and turning her head to face him again she lashed out at him. "Fuck you, Carter! Just fuck you! This was your bust, your history. These fucks were gunning for you. This was…"

"My fault!" he shouted at her.

She recoiled at his vehemence; at his anger then wanted to cry when he admitted softly, "Yeah, it was." but her eyes quickly turned to green ice and her lips twisted into a sneer. Carter was right. This was his fault and she was damned if she was going to stick around for an encore performance.

The lithe undercover cop had gotten herself out of "handcuffs the hard way" many times before, usually after a few beers or to win a bet, but she hadn't tried in years. She hoped it was like riding a bicycle. Rolling over onto her back she thanked heaven for Yoga and quickly worked her way into a standing position. Hunching over as far as she could she extended her arms down while spreading them apart until the cuffs bit into her wrists. She slipped her hands down over her rear end and the rest was a piece of cake as she sat down, leaned forward and pushed her arms away from her until she had enough room to maneuver first one leg through the circle of her bound arms, then the other. Falconer then fished a bobby pin from her hair and within seconds her cuffs were off while Carter watched it all in amazement.

He knew from experience that she was flexible but what she'd done in less than four minutes was remarkable. He closed his eyes and waited for her to release him but she made no move to assess his injuries or to remove his bonds. She simply looked down at him and said, "Your mess, Carter. You fucking clean it up."

Removing the hooker heels Ciarin headed through the door at a trot only to hear Maher's chilling voice bringing her up short.

"You're not leaving us now are ya, sugar?" The ferret stood just outside the door with Carter's gun in one hand and a cigarette in the other and when he saw her he wondered how the hell she'd gotten loose. Throwing the cigarette to the ground he grabbed her arm painfully and pulled her back inside with him. He saw that Shaw was still lying next to the mattress, his hands cuffed behind him. "How'd you get loose?" he asked pushing her up against the wall.

"You think this is the first cop I ever screwed?" she retorted, "Now let me go."

Maher pulled her back outside and asked, "You gonna leave your boyfriend here to pick up the slack?"

"Listen," Ciarin said angrily poking a finger into Maher's bony chest much to his surprise, "I know you got history with that mother fucking cop but I don't give a shit. I got no history with him...or with you. You get me?"

"You got history with me and Sonny now," Maher laughed smugly reminding her of the assaults and she wanted to strangle him on the spot.

"Yeah and you owe me two hundred bucks," Falconer said looking him dead in the eyes.

He laughed again. "You got balls, sweetheart, I'll give you that much," he told her and watched as she shivered and wiped her nose on the palm of her hand.

"And maybe I got the clap," she suggested and when his smile faded she added, "but what I absolutely don't got is history with you...or with that dead cop."

Although she'd guessed correctly that Carter Shaw would end up as just another body dumped in the LA River, Maher believed her when she intimated that she would forget him and everything that had happened or would happen. He'd already lost interest in the crack whore and besides, she looked as if she was going to start jonesing any second. Spitting a glob of saliva onto the ground at her feet he shrugged his thin shoulders. "Sonny took the cruiser to a chop shop. You wanna leave?" he said pointing to the west, "There's the highway."

Ciarin followed his finger and looked toward the highway. Her head told her that as soon as she started walking he would shoot her in the back but her gut told her that Maher considered her one of the dregs of society, even lower than himself and not worth a bullet. She would put her trust in her gut and straightening her skirt primly, which made Maher guffaw like a jackass, she added, "Thanks for nothin'," and turned her back on him and started her march to the highway and freedom.


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, she was now a crazy woman with disheveled red hair, dressed in nothing but a sleazy little dress and bare footed trying to stop someone, anyone on the freeway. A few people looked away as they passed her by while many more pulled into the next lane to avoid hitting the insane woman should she take a notion to wander onto the highway itself. A break came in the traffic and Ciarin did just as they had feared. She walked right onto the highway and when a lawyer in a sporty BMW and nowhere else to go slammed on his breaks, she almost caused a chain reaction pile-up on the 5.

"What the fuck's wrong with you, lady!" the driver shouted as he jumped from his car to confront her.

What wasn't wrong with her at that point? She'd just been assaulted by not one but two scumbags and would probably die of aids. Her partner was handcuffed and bleeding, lying face down on the floor of a shit hole totally at the mercy of said scumbags and, if that weren't enough, she was probably going to be written up and sued because she then punched the guy in the face.

Ciarin had clocked him but before she dumped him unceremoniously over the concrete barrier so that when he came to he wouldn't wonder into oncoming traffic she pulled the blue tooth out of his ear. She then appropriated his car and called Dean.

Not recognizing the number on his caller ID, Dean simply said, "Speak."

"Dean, it's me, Falconer."

Dean signaled to the others and Ty and Jamie gathered around him. "Where are you? Is Carter with you?"

"I'm on the side of the highway near some abandoned industrial park. By the smell of it I think it was an old tire warehouse."

"Venture's," Dean said and grabbed his jacket, "It's about forty five minutes from here."

Ciarin rubbed her eyes and dragged her hand down her chin. She didn't think Carter had forty-five minutes left before he was either dead or butt buddies with Maher. "Not enough time," she said cryptically.

"Not enough time for what?" Dean demanded.

"For Carter," she told him adding, "He's being held by a fuck stick named Maher."

"The drug dealer Carter put away a few years ago?"

"That's him. He's partnered up with a fat slob named Sonny."

Dean had reached his Land Rover and slid into the driver's seat while Ty rode shotgun.

"Anson "Sonny" Gutierrez. A real prize," he said and Ciarin felt sick to her stomach.

"Tell me about it. Anyway, he's got Carter's car. Activate the lo-jack and you'll find Sonny."

"But where's Carter?"

"In a whole lotta trouble."

"Hang tight, we'll be there to pick you up."

"I can't wait around…but there's gonna be a really pissed off guy out on the highway close to the park. You might want to send the paramedics to pick him up." Ciarin hung up and found her way off of the interstate and back around to the industrial park. She pulled into an adjoining parking lot and before she got out she searched the car's glove box for any kind of a weapon. California was knee deep in rich, liberal elitists who didn't believe in owning a firearm so death by briefcase was her only alternative.

She pulled the expensive leather case into the front seat beside her and opened it. It was stuffed with paperwork but when she felt something smooth and pointy deep down underneath the pile death by letter opener became a real possibility.

Maher was no longer out in front of the building and she wondered if Sonny had returned with new transportation. Had they gone and taken Carter with them or was he still inside with Maher? A gunshot echoed down the canyon of deserted buildings and Ciarin's stomach turned. "Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit," she cursed and took off running across the parking lot.

Ciarin flattened herself against the wall and cautiously stuck her head around the open door frame. Maher, evidently bored and killing time, had dragged Carter into a sitting position against the wall and squatting about ten yards away from the undercover cop the little maggot had shot a round through the wall just next to Carter's head.

Carter's face throbbed, the pain in his ribs was unbearable and now his ears rang but he kept on smiling just to taunt the little fuck. He was at peace with whatever was to come including his own death. Ciarin Falconer had done what she had to and after the assault he didn't blame her for running out. He knew she would contact the others but as soon as Maher heard sirens or a car pull up not driven by Sonny he'd be a dead man. At that point revenge would be more important to Maher than freedom.

Another shot shattered silence and passed through the sheet metal just over Carter's head. He flinched and shut his eyes. When he opened them he saw Ciarin Falconer making her way toward the squatting toad and Carter almost groaned aloud. Why had she come back? She had been raped in his stead and that was bad enough but he couldn't live with himself if she took a bullet for him, too.

It was too quiet in the abandoned warehouse and even though she trod lightly in her bare feet Carter was sure Maher would hear her. It hurt like a bitch but he pretended to cough up a lung and the felon only cocked his head and wondered if Carter was bleeding internally. Oh, how he hoped he was.

Ciarin made her way to Maher and the whisper of fabric as she squatted behind him caught his attention, as did her soft voice when she said, "Hi, honey. I'm home." Maher jumped up but she was right there with him. She pulled his arm up behind his back and snaked her arm around his chest and stabbed the business end of the letter opener into his neck, just enough to drip blood down his shirt front and to get his attention. "Drop the gun, you fucking prick," she demanded holding him in a choke hold.

The prick tried to break free but, if nothing else, Ciarin was tenacious when she was hopped up on adrenalin and she stuck him a second time, no small feat considering the comparative bluntness of the implement. Maher got the message and let his gun drop nosily to the concrete.

Ciarin didn't dare to let him go and, instead of picking it up, she kicked the weapon across the floor and out of Maher's reach. She cursed when she thought she had broken her toes and Maher started to struggle again. Ciarin had only to hang on to him long enough for the others to reach them and by the sound of the sirens in the distance; she didn't think it would be too much longer.

Dean and Ty were first on scene and when Ty wrestled Maher from her death grip and the adrenalin rush began to abate Ciarin was suddenly weak in the knees and trembling uncontrollably. Dean tried to take her arm, to lead her over to the ambulance where the lawyer was pointing at her and yelling at whoever would listen to him that she was the whore who had assaulted him and jacked his car but she pulled away from him. Not because of the lawyer but because at that moment she couldn't stand any human contact.

Carter watched it all and when Dean then came to him to see if he was all right he only asked that he help him to his feet. When he tried to walk away Dean held onto his arm and pulled his handcuff keys from his pocket. "Hold on there, Cowboy," he said quietly but Carter had other plans.

He didn't wait for his undercover operative to remove his handcuffs; he simply walked over to Ty and stood face to face with Maher. The drug dealer, still leaking blood, smiled smugly and Carter head butted him square in the face. Maher went down blood gushing from his nose and with a smile on his face Carter allowed Dean to finally release him from the handcuffs

Ciarin watched as Carter moved directly toward her, blood still seeping from the wound on his face, and she knew the painful effort probably cost him dearly but he should have saved himself the trip. She wasn't about to let him comfort her...until he looked into her eyes and touched her face gently. A single tear slipped down her cheek and she let him fold her into his arms.

"She's a good girl Shaw, took it up the ass for you. You should take her out to dinner." Maher was back up on his feet and only handcuffed...not gagged.

"Shut up mother fucker," Ty ground out but it was too late.

Ciarin had heard the words and tried to pull away from Carter before he could push her away in disgust but Carter just pulled her back into his arms and pushed her head down on his chest. He looked up and realized that the others had heard Maher's crass remark when Ty looked at him in surprise and Dean looked at him with pity.

Dean started toward the couple but a frown and a shake of Carter's head warned him off. He nodded and turned his attention to Maher who continued to smile and to bleed. One of the paramedics tried to examine the drug dealer's broken nose but he pushed the man away and boomed out in a nasal voice for everyone else to hear, "Best piece of ass I ever had."

All conversation stopped but before Maher could say another word Dean's fist connected solidly with his chin and the man dropped to the ground like so much shit from a cow.


	12. Chapter 12

Carter Shaw lay strapped to a gurney in the back of a speeding ambulance while Ciarin Falconer sat next to Mouthy on the squad bench and listened to the lawyer as he whined nasally about his broken nose and, now that he'd found out she was a cop, police brutality. Carter groaned and the paramedic bent to check his vitals once again. His skin was palled and his face was covered by a thin sheen of sweat. His breathing was labored and every time he coughed, pain shot through his chest and flecks of blood dotted the oxygen mask.

"Listen Lieutenant," the attendant told him, "I know you're in pain and I'd like to administer morphine but you look like you've been kicked in the head by a mule and a concussion's a big fat contraindication."

Carter just nodded weakly and wished the whole wretched ordeal would just come to an end. He turned his head to surreptitiously watch his partner. One minute Ciarin looked as pale as a ghost and had a far away stare that worried him but the second her bench mate broke into another chorus of the "I'm gonna sue you blues" she could barely hide her utter contempt for the man.

Interminable minutes later the ambulance pulled up to the hospital emergency room entrance and the paramedics jumped from the rig. They removed the gurney first and wheeled it through the sliding glass doors. Ciarin and the lawyer sat in what could only be construed as un-companionable silence, the latter breathing noisily through his mouth like a mucous laden fish.

The attendant returned shortly to take his remaining passengers inside and the two of them stood up. Ciarin, took her place behind the lawyer ostensibly to wait her turn but when he reached out to grab for the rail she put her foot on his ass and pushed as hard as she could. The prick sailed out of the back of the rig and stretched out both arms to try and break his headlong fall to the concrete and broke both wrists.

"Gotta love LAPD," the paramedic said over his shoulder as he stooped to minister to the fallen man and having listened to the pin-head rant and rave all the way from the warehouse he found he couldn't really blame her and said to his transport, "Hey man, that first step's a bitch. You should have followed protocol and waited for me to help you out."

Ciarin stepped down from the rig, over the lawyer and walked into the ER waiting room. Once inside she spotted Ty and Dean. Carter had just been taken into the back and they stood next to the door through which he'd disappeared. They wouldn't be allowed to see him until his wounds had been assessed and he'd been loaded up with painkillers. She kept her distance.

Captain Maynard, who had just come in from the parking lot, joined her as she stood off by herself waiting for the SART team to gather.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" he asked her, a frown wrinkling his brow.

Cairin took a deep breath and started, "Some dirt bag Carter arrested..."

Maynard held up a hand and she stopped.

"I mean what _just_ happened...outside...in the parking lot."

Ciarin huffed a laugh of disgust, smiled sardonically and said, "Oops."

"He says when you commandeered his car you never identified yourself as a police officer," Maynard then said and anger sparked in his eyes.

"And he's lucky I didn't bleed all over his seat," she retorted.

Realizing what she was talking about, Maynard, now at a loss for words, simply stared at her and Falconer remained silent. Ty walked up to him and offered to show him the gift shop so he could buy Carter a balloon or something and he let himself be led away.

"Let's give her some room," the black undercover cop suggested when they were out of earshot, "It'll be bad enough when SART gets here."

Maynard knew that SART stood for Sexual Assault Response Team and that, along with the hospital personnel assigned to her, there would be at least one detective, a prosecutor and possibly more departmental personnel as well, all of whom would listen intently as she told her story. Better to have to tell it only once than over and over again.

dbdbdbdb

SART had come and gone and the staff had given her the okay to finally shower and she scrubbed herself all over to within an inch of her life. Still amped up she wandered the halls in a set of hospital scrubs, the hooker dress headed downtown as evidence, never to be worn again.

Ciarin continued to wander until she found Carter. He was hooked up to a heart monitor and various IV bags and it looked as if he was sleeping but not peacefully. Even doped up on morphine he couldn't seem to get comfortable and each time he moved he let out a little groan. His broken cheekbones had been surgically mended and his face had been stitched up and dressed in a light bandage that was dotted with dark pink ooze. He would still be devastating handsome in her eyes because a hint of a scar would make him seem even more dangerous.

She crept into his room and sat down in the chair next to his bed to watch him sleep but Carter had just been dozing and he opened his eyes. He didn't seem surprised to see her there. What he did seem was unsure of himself, as if he didn't quite know what to do with her or how to act around her...now. Ciarin just sat back and took it all in.

"Ciarin. I'm so..."

"Shut up, Carter," she warned him, "If you say you're sorry, I'll punch you in the throat," and she meant it. She didn't want his sorrow or his pity. She didn't know what she wanted, outside of a drink and slow and painful death for Maher and Sonny but for him to feel sorry for her or to think any less of her for what she'd done was so not what she wanted.

"Got any Connemara hidden away in those clown pants?" he asked her drowsily.

She snorted, shook her head and wished, "If only."

"How are you, partner?" Carter then asked her in all seriousness.

Ciarin snorted again and wondered why she didn't feel any worse than she did. She was on a fairly even keel even after giving up her bodily fluids and her statement to a room full of strangers. She hadn't even cried in the shower, which had always been a refuge for her. "Well, besides the obvious," she started, "there's the threat of aids or some other gift that keeps on giving, a long protracted court case where, for understandable reasons, they won't let me carry a gun, a probable lawsuit or three and a psyche eval that I may not be able to pass...even after anger management training. You?"

Carter grimaced. "Broken cheek, couple of smashed ribs, slight lung puncture and I'll be pissing blood for at least a month. Plus a long protracted case court where, for understandable reasons, they won't let me carry a gun...either," he said and added, "and I'll vouch for you on the psyche eval."

"Great," she laughed, "Glowing accolades from a guy who's just been kicked in the head."

Carter's hand went reflectively to the bandage on his face and to his eye. The surrounding skin had turned purple and his eye was almost swollen shut. Ciarin reached over to softly caress his unmarked cheek.

"Do regret your decision?" he asked taking her hand in his and staring at her with his one good eye, "I was the one Maher was after. It _wa_s my fucking mess."

"Listen Carter, the only thing I regret is being put in such a fucked up position," she told him, "I know who's at fault. I don't blame you and I certainly don't blame myself...even if I was dressed like a hooker."

Carter closed his eye. Even with all his pain meds his whole body hurt and now even his heart was filled with pain. She had taken much worse than a bullet for him. He didn't feel grateful for dodging that bullet or even lucky. He felt sick to his stomach and he felt like a coward. He knew he could easily take a bullet for her...but an ass fucking? In all honestly he knew there was no way and whether it was right or wrong he was disappointed in himself. He hated the feeling and when he saw Maher again he'd be hard pressed not to shoot the little fuck in the face.

"Anyway," Ciarin noted, "it doesn't seem quite as abhorrent when it's a woman who's raped. Pretty fucked up, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," he agreed then hesitated before he started to lie to her, "I'd have been okay if you'd have fought Maher off tooth and nail..."

She cut him off, "But I wouldn't have been. Maher gave me a choice and I took the one I thought, still think, was the lesser of two evils."

Carter looked absolutely green, like he was going to loose his lunch and she asked, "Do you want me to call a nurse? Or the Captain?"

"Are the others still in the waiting room?" he asked even though he didn't want to see anyone right now...other than Ciarin.

"I suppose so...but I can do without the awkward well wishes and the piteous looks."

"If anyone needs pity, it's Maher and Gutierrez. They'll be old and gray before they walk the streets again."

"And I'll be waiting to run them over."

"I call shotgun," he said and she laughed. Carter patted the bed next to him and suggested, "Stay here with me tonight...please. I don't want you to be alone...I don't want to be alone."

Carter moved over as far as his IV's and his pain would let him and Ciarin crawled into the bed to lie next to him. He put his arm around her, pulled her close to him and she hid her face in the crook of his neck and sobbed.


	13. Chapter 13

The lawyer had sued the department and they had settled out of court so Ciarin Falconer didn't get to shoot him after all. She had passed all her medical tests with flying colors and had even passed her anger management classes...barely. Her commanding officer back home in New Orleans had called and, now that the trial was over, she was going home.

She and Carter sat side by side in Casey's Irish Bar, at the same booth they'd first gotten drunk in all those month before. The others would be there soon to drink her off into the sunset but in the meantime Carter was half-assed serious when he said to her, "Marry me, Falconer."

She was just as half-assed serious when she told him, "Too much Connemara is not a good reason to get married, Carter."

"Some people get married for less."

"You don't know anything about me," she reminded him and he knew she was right.

He knew every inch of her luscious body and that he could trust her with his life but he knew virtually nothing about her past, only that she was from New Orleans, Louisiana.

dbdbdbdb

New Orleans was hot and sweaty, just the way Carter Shaw liked his women...one woman in particular. The undercover cop reclined, one arm behind his head, against the headboard of Ciarin Falconer's huge, ornately carved four-poster bed. Sweat ran down his chest and matted the hairs she loved to stroke while beads of moisture slid down the sides of his face to wet his five o'clock shadow.

An ancient ceiling fan turned lazily above the room and did little to cool the heat they'd generated. Carter reached for the glass of Connemara sitting on the bedside table and sighed contentedly. He could smell himself as he moved. It was a dark, musky scent born of hard but immensely enjoyable work. He could smell her, too. Sweet, like the Night Blooming Jasmine that grew riotously in her tiny courtyard, with just a hint of New Orleans black magic.

Ciarin lay naked beside him, bathed in the lustrous moonlight that streamed through her knee to ceiling windows. He suspected that she had fallen asleep and he couldn't blame her. He'd barely given her a moment's peace since he'd flown into the Big Easy, unannounced, three days earlier. Thoughtfully he studied the curve of her hip and the perspiration that sheened her back and wondered if she were truly content in New Orleans.

When her C.O. had first contacted her and demanded that she get her butt back home and back on the job she had hesitated...but not long enough as far as he was concerned. Regardless of the fact that she'd only been assigned to Maynard's squad temporarily he'd been a little more than hurt when she'd refused the Captain's offer of a permanent assignment and had returned to her former department and her former life.

His drunken half-assed serious proposal notwithstanding he felt that her refusal had been his fault. He'd told her that the squad needed her and all that but he hadn't been totally honest with her. Yeah, she was a top-notch police officer and a definite asset to his team but _he_ needed her. That was why he'd come to Louisiana. To tell her so, to try to get her back but Ciarin seemed satisfied.

She had said good-bye to him and had returned to Louisiana where she was once again assimilated into the barely controlled chaos that was post Katrina New Orleans. As he rode along with her he found her to be in her element whether among the bars and bistros of the French Quarter or the historical homes and stately Victorian mansions of the Garden District. She was so in tuned to the murder capitol of the US that she barely broke a sweat performing her duty, unlike him, whose only duty had been to make her climax again and again.

Carter wiped his brow on his arm and took another sip of Connemara. Her returning with him to LA had become a hard sell because he knew exactly how she felt about her job and her city. She was as bound to the Big Easy as he was to The Angels.

Dbdbdbdb

Russell Maynard walked through the door to Carter Shaw's loft; his shoulders slumped with the weight of the world, ignoring the incredulous looks of Carter's team as he did. Since the inception of the non-department Maynard hadn't set foot into Carter's inner sanctum and he would have done anything not to be there at that moment.

Ty noticed the man's slow but methodical march up to Carter's desk and the way Maynard drew in a deep breath before beginning to speak in hushed tones to his lieutenant. Ty's eyes caught Jamie's. She had also watched the director's somber trek across the concrete and shrugged her slim shoulders.

Never one for beating around the bush and not able to hide his emotions very well Russell Maynard heaved a heavy sigh, looked directly at Carter, whose posture had immediately changed to one of defense, and began. "I wanted you to hear this from me before word got out."

Carter's mind raced furiously and he quickly took stock of his life; a life that was about to change and he braced himself because only bad news could follow such a statement.

"Ciarin Falconer was killed last night." Maynard rushed the words out as if holding them in any longer would choke him. He waited calmly for the man at the desk before him to take in and digest the news.

The younger man's eyes widened momentarily then closed and breath hissed from Carter's lips through clenched teeth. "Fuck!" he whispered. He was taken completely by surprise, his first reaction confusion turning quickly to disbelief. She wasn't the first thing on his mind when he woke up anymore but he did think of her often and always with a smile. Lifting his head to look up at Maynard he asked, "How?"

"She stepped into the line of fire during a hostage situation at a bank. She saved a man's life," Russell told him and when Carter's eyes narrowed dangerously he added, "She's a hero, Carter."

"A hero?" Shaw said and barked out a sardonic laugh, "She's fucking dead, Russell." Anger took hold of him and he blamed everyone and everything for her death. He assigned guilt to the still living hostage, to himself for being almost two thousand miles away; even to the dead woman herself for her selfless act of courageous stupidity and it took his breath away. He stopped to breathe deeply and wondered just who had elicited feelings so strong in Ciarin Falconer that she had taken a bullet? One of a thousand questions he wanted answered but would never ask. He would however make one request and, ignoring the others who had stopped everything to drift closer the two of them, he said, "Tell me about her, Russell. She let me make love to her but she would never let me know her."

Russell Maynard thought for a moment and agreed to tell Carter her story...at Casey's...over a bottle or two of Connemara.

FIN

As always, thank you for reading.


End file.
